


At the Close of the Day

by Verasteine



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verasteine/pseuds/Verasteine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the other side of being the prince of Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Close of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written in December 2009, intended to be part of a triptych that never happened. Part of my effort to rid my hard drive of old fic. A belated thank you to [](http://misswinterhill.livejournal.com/profile)[**misswinterhill**](http://misswinterhill.livejournal.com/) for betaing this way back when.

The news came before the return of the small army of knights; a lone rider thundering into the courtyard, just as dusk began to fall.

Merlin, doing his daily chores, had been wary all day because of Arthur's absence, the prince having ridden out the day before to deal with news of bandits on the roads of Camelot, closer to the city than was customary. He exchanged a glance, now, with Gaius, before hurrying to the window to look out.

A messenger wearing the livery of Camelot was dismounting and calling out, "I bear news for the king!"

Merlin turned from the window at his words, ignoring Gaius's shout at him, and raced for the throne room.

\--

He was just in time to hear Uther receive the messenger, who knelt before his king, and Merlin recognised the young squire assigned to Sir Caradoc, David.

"Tell me of your news," the king said, and his voice was impatient. He sat in his throne, one gloved hand at his chin, eyes taking in everything before him.

"Sire," David began, voice breathless with exertion, "your son the prince sends word. They have engaged the bandits some miles north, and have suffered losses. He bids me to say he is well, but not all are so lucky, and to beg you to prepare the castle for their return this night."

Uther regarded the boy, then nodded. "Very well. Report to the court physician at once, and relay your news to him."

David rose and bowed, nodding before exiting.

Uther looked around the throne room, eyes sliding over and then settling on Merlin. "See that all is ready for the prince's return."

Merlin nodded, mind already on procuring food and readying a bath.

Uther raised his voice to carry to all corners of the room. "Prepare the castle for the return of the knights of Camelot!"

There was a chorus of, "Yes, sire," in response, and servants went their ways.

\--

The court dined early to enable the kitchens time to prepare hearty food for the returning warriors, and Merlin made sure, with little effort, that he acquired a tray piled high with all of Arthur's favourites. He stoked the hearth in Arthur's chamber, turned down the bed, ensured water was brought up for the prince's bath.

Then he sat and waited.

The window in Arthur's rooms afforded an excellent view over the castle courtyard, and Merlin sat by it as dusk gave way to darkness and the torches in the square were lit.

It took many hours, ere the knights of Camelot returned.

At the head of the group rode Arthur, straight in the saddle of his tall brown mare, flanked by a dozen or so men in Camelot livery, with swords by their saddles and squires riding by their sides.

They had left with more than a dozen. Merlin had watched them ride out from the castle steps, Arthur's last words to him an insult or another that he'd met with a cheerful grin.

Arthur, pulling up his horse by the steps now, looked weary and stiff when he dismounted, face thrown into shadows by the flickering torchlight. The groomsmen who took the reins of his horse bowed low, but the prince ignored them, taking the castle steps two at the time, leaving his party behind him.

Going inside to report to the king.

Merlin turned from the window, and looked around the room once more. He stoked the hearth again, whispered a spell to heat the bath water, and smoothed the creases out of the tunic and leggings he'd laid out for Arthur.

Then he took his position by the window again, and looked as the groomsmen lead the horses to the stables.

\--

Arthur came up twenty minutes after Merlin had watched him ride through the castle gates, and stopped just inside the door to his rooms. He narrowed his eyes at the tableau before him, pushing the door shut with one hand.

"Merlin," he grumbled, and Merlin wondered if he was trying to find fault just to take out his anger on someone.

"Sire," he said, more superciliously than was his wont, even lowering his eyes for a brief, deferential moment.

Arthur took a few steps into the room, pulling up short before the table piled high with food, his eyes raking over the platters.

Merlin thought he moved stiffly, just like he had when dismounting.

"Your bath is ready," he said, breaking the silence, leaving off a term of address because he wasn't sure which one to use. It was easiest to use nothing, when you weren't sure.

Arthur looked at him, still seeming to take in everything. There were lines around his eyes that were only ever there when he was exhausted, and there were shadows in his eyes that Merlin didn't like in the least.

"Thank you," Arthur said stiffly, and crossed the room to where the tub stood behind a screen.

Merlin followed him, watching Arthur's uneven gait, until Arthur stopped and stood still. He had his back to Merlin, and was breathing deeply, slowly, in a measured way that made Merlin ache to see his face.

He stepped up close, laying his hand on the buckles of Arthur's armour, and Arthur shuddered under his touch.

Merlin froze for a brief second, but Arthur didn't speak, and Merlin continued, carefully prying the leather straps out of their holds and pulling until the catches gave.

He loosened plate after plate and stripped them, putting them aside for cleaning and inspecting later.

Arthur stood rock still, no more movement except that same measured breathing of before.

Finally, Merlin felt a need to break the silence, and said, "How many men did you lose?"

Arthur froze, impossibly stiller than he'd already been, and replied, "Three knights. One squire."

Arthur's voice was hoarse, gravelly, as if he hadn't used it in a while. Merlin continued with his task, lifting the bottom end of the mail and pulling it slowly over Arthur's head. Without comment, Arthur lifted his arms to assist.

"What did the king say?" Merlin asked.

Arthur bit off a word under his breath, suddenly turning to look at Merlin. "Would you shut up?"

Merlin met those blue eyes, shadowed with the ghosts of the day, and pressed his lips together.

Arthur turned back, letting Merlin strip padding and undershirt from his torso, before leaning down to undo his own breeches. Merlin busied himself with the clothes so as to give Arthur a semblance of privacy when stepping into the tub. This was their way; it had been from the beginning of his service.

When he was done and turned back, Arthur was sitting in the tub, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. He wasn't leaning back in the water, the way he usually would, but stayed stiffly in the centre as if he wanted as little to touch him as possible.

Merlin stood still, unsure of his place or actions, and took note of the red grazes on Arthur's shoulders, signs of mail and padding chafing against his skin.

Arthur stayed where he was, staring sightlessly into the milky water, muscles stiff.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked slowly.

The prince turned his head at that, slowly meeting Merlin's eyes, and Merlin's heart broke quietly at what he saw there.

In the end of the day, they were both young men, the two of them, too young by half to know the things they knew. Merlin understood better than Arthur suspected what carrying burdens at their age was, and in Arthur he saw the fault lines Uther had created.

"He was fifteen," Arthur said, hoarsely.

Merlin blinked, then realised Arthur was talking about the lost squire.

"It was Sir Percival," Arthur continued, staring back into the water, steam clouding his face. "They cut him down and Benoit, he went to defend his master."

Merlin could see it before his mind's eye, such a battle, that sort of loyalty. He understood it well, these things.

He listened as Arthur continued his litany for the dead. "Sir Osvald, they stabbed from behind. I could not shout in time." Arthur bit his lower lip, hard. Merlin watched as a pearl of blood welled up and burst. "Sir Maurice had his throat cut by a dagger. He'd lost his shield."

Arthur started shivering, his body causing tremors on the still surface of the water.

"Arthur," Merlin said softly, and his voice had dropped to a whisper.

Arthur glanced at him, sideways, eyes uncomprehending as they met Merlin's. "My father said... he said..."

Arthur's voice broke off, and Merlin's knees gave. He went to a crouch by the side of the tub, by the side of Arthur.

Arthur held his gaze, and his mouth twisted into a strange grimace. "My father said," he repeated, voice stronger now, twisted with something, "that I did well."

Merlin stared and blinked. "Arthur," he said a third time.

The expression slid off Arthur's face, and he bit his lip again, smearing his own blood over his mouth.

Merlin reached out at that, touching fingers to Arthur's bloody lower lip as he said, "Don't do that."

Arthur blinked. His face fell, slowly, and Merlin watched him struggle and finally squeeze his eyes shut. He shuddered, just once, and then his shoulders shook and Merlin couldn't stop himself, shifted closer to the tub, onto his knees so he could lean in, and ignored the water seeping into his sleeves as he wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulders and reeled him in.

Arthur went, reluctantly, into his awkward embrace, resting his head against Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin listened to his sobs, felt Arthur's body tremble against his own, tears stinging his own eyes. At last, he brought up his free hand and stroked it through Arthur's sweat soaked locks.

Arthur pressed his face into Merlin's shirt in reply.

\--

When the sobs subsided, Merlin pulled back, not looking at Arthur's face, instead cupping his hands into the water and slowly pouring it over Arthur's hair, wetting it. Arthur, without saying a word, tipped his head back and let him, and Merlin coaxed him to rest against the side of the tub.

The water was cooling, but not cool yet, and Merlin lathered and washed Arthur's hair without trying to think of the strange intimacy of the act. Arthur let him silently, and when he was done, Merlin got up from his cramped position and held out a towel, leaving Arthur to dry off and dress in peace.

When Arthur stepped from behind the screen back into the room proper, Merlin's mouth went dry.

Arthur'd left the tunic off, and his chest shone gold in the light from the hearth. His damp hair curled around his ears and onto his neck, and his lashes were dark with water. Merlin watched Arthur's shuttered gaze land on him, and swallowed hard.

"Sire," he managed, and his voice wasn't entirely steady, betraying him.

Arthur nodded, briefly, and looked at the table with its platters of food, before going to the cupboard and taking something out.

Merlin recognised the bottle of oil that Gaius prepared for Arthur, for injuries exactly like these, and stepped forward to take it from Arthur's hand without prompting.

Their fingers touched when Arthur moved to hold it out while Merlin moved to take it, and Merlin sucked in a breath.

He took it from Arthur's hand, clutching it, and gestured awkwardly towards the table and chairs. "Sit."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

Arthur huffed, but didn't speak, and sat on the large chair that was his favourite, turning to put his back to the light of the hearth.

Merlin went over, willing his hands to still, and set the bottle down on the table while he studying the injuries on Arthur's shoulders.

Large, red patches of raw skin took up a good swatch of Arthur's upper back, some oozing clear fluids and a little blood, other places matted with lint and scabbed, in spite of the bath.

Merlin cleared his throat, and said, "This'll hurt."

Arthur sounded a bit more like himself when he replied. "I'll be fine, _Merlin_."

Merlin huffed at that, and retrieved a soft cloth, which he carefully dipped into the oil, before smoothing it over the injury.

In spite of Arthur's dismissiveness, he sucked in a hard breath when Merlin cleaned the wounds, removing the ingrained dirt and wiping away the fluids. Arthur sat stoically through it all, though, nothing beyond the odd hitch of breath or spasming muscle.

Merlin catalogued it all; the sound of Arthur's breath, the coiled tension of his muscles as they contracted at his touch, the angry red of the bruised skin.

When he was done with Arthur's back, he came around to Arthur's front, and Arthur, still sitting in the chair, looked up through his lashes before turning his face away.

Merlin let him stare at some indistinct point on the floor, while he smoothed oil over the bruises that marred Arthur's skin. One on his shoulder, angry red that would fade into deep purple, one on his stomach, Arthur's muscles quivering with tension when Merlin touched him there, and one sweeping up his ribcage. Arthur inhaled sharply when Merlin prodded the bruise the way Gaius had taught him, seeking any give in the ribs underneath, and thankfully not finding any.

He stepped back when he was done, stoppering the bottle and storing it away.

Arthur had turned to the table, pulling a platter of food toward him.

Merlin caught his breath at the gleam of Arthur's marked skin, the firelight playing over it, turning him golden.

Arthur looked up.

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Arthur looked away, staring into the fire so long Merlin thought it would hurt his eyes, then blinking and focussing on his dinner again.

Merlin busied himself around the room. He folded and put aside Arthur's clothes, put Arthur's armour by the door with the intent of taking it with him when he left, picked up the discarded towel, and placed that by the clothes.

Arthur ate in silence.

Then Merlin was done, and Arthur was done, and he stood and went to the window, looking outside at the dark, dark night, the lit courtyard, and whatever else he was seeing out there.

"Camelot is safe again tonight," he said at last.

Merlin halted in the middle of stacking the dishes. "Yes," he answered, because he knew of nothing else to say.

"You should go," Arthur said next, and Merlin nodded.

He stacked the dishes on top of the basket full of armour, and made to pick it up, when Arthur said, "Thank you."

He glanced at Arthur, who was looking at him, but didn't really appear to be seeing him at all. Merlin tried a smile. "Good night, sire."

\--  
 _finis_.


End file.
